


eyes that watch the world and can't forget

by obstinatrix



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-19
Updated: 2012-05-19
Packaged: 2017-11-05 16:02:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/408338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obstinatrix/pseuds/obstinatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's cold, every inch of him chilled to the bones by this place, and Sam is lost somewhere on the other side of things, and here is Cas, insinuating himself into Dean's arms, the warm shape of him forgotten-familiar. Spoilers for 723.</p>
            </blockquote>





	eyes that watch the world and can't forget

**Author's Note:**

  * For [qthelights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/qthelights/gifts).



Dean comes upon the cave in darkness, a sudden hollow mouth gaping deeper than the rest of the night. Not, he supposes, that _night_ happens here exactly; not the way he understands it. Sure, he's only been here twenty minutes, but already he has the feeling that Purgatory ain't the kind of place to run on Daylight Savings Time. 

The Bic in his pocket flares up at the first touch, and that's something, at least; something unexpected. Dean can't remember trying it in Heaven, but if he'd thought -- if he'd dwelt on the question -- 

"Dean." 

Cas's voice, and suddenly the question is null and void, Dean's cold hands flat on his thighs through his night-damp jeans, Cas's face a pale smudge in the darkness. Dean would be lying to himself if he said he hadn't expected Cas back -- and yet. "Cas?" He blinks; drops the dry grass in his hand into the fire and peers at Cas over the growing glow of it. "Nice of you to come back." 

After all this time, Cas still has not acquired a proper understanding of sarcasm. "I was on a reconnaissance mission. I fear, Dean..." He breaks off, and Dean hears the sigh in his voice, untrammelled. "I fear there is no way out, even for angels."

Dean's throat clenches thickly. "Sam'll find a way," he shoots back, voice taut, and Cas nods, too quickly. 

"I'm sure he will," he says. Dean frowns. 

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cas." 

Cas sighs, a troubled little breath of air. "Dean, you -- you know where we are." 

"Sam -- "

"Sam is your brother," Cas cuts in, and lays a hand on Dean's arm, the new, familiar touch of his new, familiar personality. "He's not a demon, nor an angel. Dean -- here, we're on the outskirts of what is real." He pauses, and Dean catches the sheen of light from some distant source, catching his eyes as they shift. "We're alone. But at least --"

"At least?" Dean doesn't want to succumb to panic, he doesn't. But nothing in what Cas is saying is exactly reassuring. "At least what, Cas?"

Cas shrugs. "At least the nearest monster is an hour away," he says simply. Then his hand alights on Dean's wrist, and Dean's breath catches. "How fast does Sam work?"

And isn't that, Dean thinks, the question? God, two years ago -- before Hell -- he would have put bets on Sam breaking them out of here before anything had the chance to creep in with the darkness, sink in its claws. But since the Cage -- since Hallucifer -- Sam says Cas took the brunt of it away, but Dean isn't convinced. He shakes his head, but his arm is still beneath the warm press of Cas's palm, and he doesn't pull away. "I don't know," he says, honestly. "I don't know if he can." 

The touch of Cas's mouth to his in the darkness is unexpected, on some level, but not on every one. Dean's skin wakes up, cries out in remembrance at the taste of it, even while his brain is stilling, grinding to a broken halt at the way Cas's mouth brushes over his, the way his palm fits so perfectly to the curve of Dean's jaw. "C-Cas?" 

"Ssssh." That, too, is Cas, as absolutely as the warm grip of hands on Dean's biceps, the careful touch of tongue to Dean's lower lip. "Forgive me, Dean." 

Somewhere, deep in his core. Dean knows he should protest. Cas is hardly himself; Dean should push him away, argue, stop this. But he's cold, every inch of him chilled to the bones by this place, and Sam is lost somewhere on the other side of things, and here is Cas, insinuating himself into Dean's arms, the warm shape of him forgotten-familiar, and Dean is no saint. No righteous man, or they could have taken a finger off him and ended this earlier. Cas's hands slip into his hair, soft, and Dean bites his lip, shifts up onto his knees. "Okay," he says, and Cas hisses, rubs his mouth half-open against Dean's cheek. "Okay, Cas. I gotcha." 

When Cas kisses him, his mouth tastes of honey and ozone, the last clinging fragments of Earth. Dean leans in, bites at the swell of his lower lip, and Cas groans, the sound of it hot and long-remembered, setting shards of heat fragmenting in the pit of Dean's stomach. 

"Oh," Dean murmurs, and Cas half laughs, shoves closer, presses Dean's thighs flat with the palms of his hands and straddles them, arms snaking soft around Dean's neck. 

"Later," Cas says, and the shape of him is a clear reassurance in the darkness, the firm weight of him on Dean's thighs like a brand. "Dean, please." 

"Yeah," Dean gets out; "yeah, Cas, fuck." The hospital-issue pants slip down easily enough, and Dean hooks them around Cas's knees, pushes his thighs wide enough to get his hands between. "Jesus, you're so fucking -- "

"Yes," Cas cuts in, head tipping back, and Dean tracks the shift of light along the line of his neck, over the swell of Adam's apple, into the twiching hollow of Cas's jaw as Dean's fingers find the tight clutch of muscle between his legs, rubbing circles there until it yields to his quiet instruction. "Yes -- Dean --"

"I gotcha," Dean says, and it's crazy, this, everything, but Cas is warm and sure in his lap and Dean is aching for him, precome-slick where the head of his dick smears against the inside of Cas's smooth thigh. " _Cas_." 

When he pushes inside, Cas falls back in time, groans from his stomach outward, and Dean doesn't sense the tears on his cheeks until they rub off on Cas's face, Cas's mouth. "Cas," Dean says, and Cas kisses him, bites at his mouth. 

"Come on," Cas hisses; lifts himself in Dean's lap and slams back down, his body stretched like a drum around the girth of Dean's cock in the infinite darkness. "Come on, Dean; please -- please --"

"Sssh," Dean murmurs, but his hips work faster all the same, frantic piston moving faster as Cas shoves down in time, fingers at his jaw, his throat. "Ssssh -- Cas -- Jesus --"

"Mmm," Cas breathes, and then his tongue is rubbing hot against the flat of Dean's, stroking over the roof of his mouth. "Dean," he murmurs, pulling wetly back, and he tastes of hope and nightmares, of memories lost in the undertow of living. "Please, Dean. Please, Dean, stay with me." 

"Cas," Dean says, and want swells up in his stomach like a siren, like desperation that sets him grasping at the nip of Cas's waist, the narrow span of his back. "Tell me," he whispers, not knowing what he expects or what he wants; not knowing anything but that he is here and he isn't alone; that Cas is with him and that forgiveness is a dead man's game. "Tell me," he says, and Cas leans in, bites at his mouth until it aches in its soft places, red and wet. 

"Wait," Cas says, and he rises up, reaches down; curls his fingers tense around the shaft of Dean's dick, a handspan keeping Dean still. "Wait -- Dean -- just --" 

Dean takes a deep breath, slow. Pushes up until Cas's hand retreats. Dean fucks him with a hand at the small of his back, a hand on the unknown earth, and Cas comes, jerking, clinging. 

"Wait," Cas says, and Dean cuts him off with a kiss, two hands in his hair. 

"Help me," Dean says, and Cas sighs, grips him tight. 

"Soon," Cas says, and is still.


End file.
